


With Intimations of Catastrophe

by gypsydancergirl (hauntedlittledoll)



Series: Risk 'Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dehydration, Gen, Human Castiel, Human Gabriel, Hurt/Comfort, Malnutrition, Random Literary References for the Win, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-17
Updated: 2010-10-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 01:43:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedlittledoll/pseuds/gypsydancergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This takes place in the alternate future of 5.04 - "The End," only involving Gabriel as discovered in 5.08 - "Changing Channels."  Nothing else has changed.  When the angels leave, Castiel isn't the only one left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Intimations of Catastrophe

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from C.K. Williams' poem, "Risk."
> 
> A/N: This was written prior to the reveal of 5.19 - "Hammer of the Gods" where Lucifer calls Gabriel his "little brother" and thereby insinuates that Gabriel is the youngest archangel by heaven's concept of time and physics (which are always open to interpretation). Thus, in this fic, Gabriel is clearly referenced as the middle child, playing on his alternating desires to play both peacekeeper and warmonger. I could have changed it, but there is plot significance to Gabriel's status as such in the sequel.

Gabriel had no way to mark time. Time was pretty meaningless to angels anyway, and when one considered the monotony of life inside a ring of fire six foot in diameter . . . day-in . . . day-out . . .

Let it suffice to say that Gabriel had been given plenty of time to think and when Zachariah came back, Gabriel would unleash millennia of trickster creativity powered by full-on wrath of an archangel. Gabriel hated being ignored.

Almost as much as he hated being forgotten.

But he hadn’t been forgotten. He hadn’t. Zachariah had thrown one heck of a tantrum, before playing God and for all intents and purposes, grounding the recalcitrant archangel. But he hadn’t been forgotten.

Normally Gabriel would have enjoyed the opportunity to piss off that particular brother.

Normally, Zachariah didn’t have access to holy oil and the kind of warding required in order to dampen an archangel’s power . . . which meant that Michael hadn’t taken Gabriel’s dramatics particularly well. Gabriel despised the middle child metaphor—especially when he fell right into it . . .

. . . Time is still meaningless here.

Not all time, because Gabriel felt it when his younger brother won his vessel. Sam Winchester had fallen, and Lucifer rejoiced. Not all time, because Gabriel felt Zachariah and Michael turn away from him, and then he felt nothing. He could not feel a single one of his siblings on this plane or any other.

Without them, time is meaningless, and he waits in the ring of fire, because there’s nothing else he can do. _There’s nothing else he will do._

* * *

Gabriel was awoken one morning—he doesn’t know which—by the light coming from outside as heavy doors were pushed inward. He still could not feel his brothers, so the intruder was human or demon or maybe even Croat. They were all the same. Even if they were stupid enough to free him, Gabriel was useless until he got outside—past the warding. He’d never make it to the door in this state.

“Gabriel!”

The archangel groaned. Of course it would be his littlest brother and Castiel’s pet Winchester. At least, Gabriel was pretty sure they wouldn’t leave him trapped by fire and holy oil.

With effort, he managed to roll his head to the side meeting wide blue eyes on the other side of the flame.

“Break it,” he rasped. “Please. Break it.”

Castiel stepped over the fiery ring and crouched beside Gabriel. That was okay. He knew Castiel had been falling before. Holy oil should have no effect on the former-angel now, but they would need to break the circle to let Gabriel out.

“How long have you been here?” Castiel asked quietly, sitting carefully and carding his fingers through Gabriel’s lank, dirty hair.

Gabriel shrugged. _Eternity_ , he wanted to say. _Seconds. No time, and all time, Castiel, I don’t **know**!_ ” But he can’t get the words past his throat.

“Why did you not leave, brother?”

“You see th’oly oil?” Gabriel hissed through his teeth, forcing scorn. It falls short; Castiel completely missed it.

“The angels have left,” Castiel’s confusion was obvious. “The oil has no effect on us now. You know this, Gabriel.”

Castiel’s hand stilled. Gabriel bit back the whine that burned his throat, but couldn’t restrain from moving back into the touch. Immediately, Castiel’s hand resumed the rhythmic motion through filthy too-long hair.

Gabriel could feel the months’ worth of grime, and he felt shame, but he could fix this. He has to get out of the ring, and then out of the church, but once outside, his powers will return. He’ll be able to restore his vessel and gorge himself on chocolate until this was all just a bad dream.

He says as much, or mumbles something akin to it into his brother’s thigh.

“You know better, Gabriel,” his brother reprimanded sharply. “You should have left before it got this bad.” Castiel took something from Dean outside the circle. Something cold and wet seeped between Gabriel’s parched lips. _Water!_ Gabriel sucked at the bottle thirstily, latching at the mouth of it with his teeth when Castiel moved to pull it away.

“Dude, slow down,” Dean growled the order—the first words that the human has spoken.

Gabriel ignored him, concentrated fully on the draw of the liquid, until he choked. Water splashed against his face as Castiel wrenched the bottle away. The coughing was followed by vomiting. Rough hands rolled him onto his side as water and acid and saliva come up in tenuous strings, splattering Castiel’s jeans.

When nothing else came up, Castiel wordlessly shifted away from the mess and closer to Gabriel. He pulled the archangel up slowly, until Gabriel was sort-of-sitting and sort-of-leaning against his brother’s side.

“Slower,” Castiel warned, holding out the water bottle again. Gabriel complied wearily. “Why did you not leave?”

“Can’t,” Gabriel murmured between sips. His voice was still damaged, but not catching anymore in his throat. “Can’t.”

“You can,” Castiel insisted, twisting to meet Gabriel’s eyes.

“Can’t. Th’oil.” Water didn’t do much for the slurring speech though.

“Can no longer hold you back,” Castiel’s eyes were blazing with the fury that colored his tone.

Gabriel shook his head, breaking eye contact. “No. Please.”

“Gabriel.”

“Break it. You have to break it.”

“I don’t need to,” Castiel told him quietly, passing off the water bottle again. Gabriel felt the shift of muscles that gave away Castiel’s intention to stand.

Gabriel fisted his hand in his brother’s coat, dimly registering the olive green canvas that had replaced Castiel’s normal trenchcoat. “You wouldn’t leave me here.”

“No,” Castiel murmured, and Gabriel is gathered carefully into his little brother’s arms. “We wouldn’t.”

“You need me to get him?” Dean offered, taking one foot inside.

Castiel shook his head. “He is not heavy.” Castiel lifted. It’s disconcerting, and Gabriel isn’t even the one expending effort, but the vertigo makes his head spin. Against his will, Gabriel is forced to let it fall against Castiel’s shoulder.

“You have to break it, Castiel.”

“I don’t.”

“Break it,” Gabriel ordered, pretending that there’s a chance his brother will obey him. Castiel ignored him, walking to the edge of the fire. “I said break it, Castiel!” Gabriel shouted, fingers twisting in the coat as he shied back away from the flames. “Break it!”

“No.” And Castiel took one simple step over the low flames, carrying Gabriel with him.

It didn’t hurt. Gabriel felt absolutely nothing crossing the barrier, except for the spiking of fear in his— _his_ —heart. His human heart.

Gabriel thought he heard Castiel speaking, but the point had already been proven so he didn’t bother paying attention. He stared at the flames which still danced merrily in the eternal ring.

“You should have broken it,” Gabriel whispered as everything faded to black.

* * *

“Let me get him,” Dean argued, hovering at Castiel’s side.

“I’ve got him, Dean. He is not heavy.”

“He’s heavy enough,” Dean countered, actually _fluttering_ nervously at Castiel’s side. “You’re not Superman anymore, Cas. You’re still recovering—”

“I’m healthier than he is,” Castiel pointed out with a long-suffering look in his friend’s direction.

“Which isn’t saying much,” Dean shot back.

Castiel heaved a sigh, because he had to admit that his brother was a wreck. It had been months since the angels had taken off, and Gabriel had to have been captured well before that. How his brother had survived at all was a mystery; one that Castiel doubted any present actually wanted solved.

That was not to say that Castiel was incapable of carrying his own brother forty feet to the Impala providing Dean got the door. Gabriel had lost weight, while Dean and Bobby had forced Castiel to put on weight. This was within Castiel’s capabilities if Dean would stop slowing him down.

“Cas, come on,” Dean stepped between Castiel and the door. “I know— _I really know_ —how you feel, but I don’t want you to get hurt . . . again.”

Castiel huffed.

“Just let me get him for you. I’d rather have you watching my back anyway with all the croats running around,” Dean offered, and it was a lie. Dean was a much better fighter, and Castiel knew that he was being humored when Dean took him on _safe_ raids. After Detroit, Dean became over-protective of Castiel and Bobby. Castiel could even forgive the patronizing behavior, because he knew they were the last of Dean’s family and he also knew how much that meant to the hunter.

Gabriel was among the last of Castiel’s family, and that meant just as much to the former-angel.

Shifting Gabriel’s weight to brace his arm better, Castiel gave Dean the coldest look he could muster. “In the last year, I have not interfered with how you handled Sam. And I will not.”

Dean’s mouth worked silently. No one but Castiel or Bobby could bring up Sam’s name and not bear the brunt of Dean’s wrath. No one had mentioned him in weeks. Castiel pressed the advantage while Dean was still listening to him.

“Gabriel is my brother. Allow me the courtesy to care for him.”

Dean stepped back, and Castiel crossed the pavement. Reaching the Impala, he turned back to fix Dean with another pointed stare. “Now, would be the time to offer assistance, Dean.”

The hunter jumped, and Castiel very carefully refrained from smirking as Dean yanked open the door and helped Castiel wrangle Gabriel into the vehicle. Because driving in apocalyptic times could be somewhat hazardous, Castiel climbed into the backseat and eased Gabriel’s head and shoulders into his lap. Dean was already around the car and in the driver’s seat, watching the formerly-angelic brethren in the rearview mirror.

“Dean?”

“You’re about all I’ve got left, Cas.”

“I know,” Castiel sighed. There was a long moment of awkward silence. “I believe this might be time for a joke?” Castiel inquired solemnly.

Dean’s eyes widened, then he looked away and gave a sharp nod.

“ _Drive, Jeeves_.”

It wasn’t a particularly good joke, but Dean snorted, and Castiel cracked a very tiny smile.

* * *

Gabriel woke to find himself deeply communing with an olive green coat that had been shoved under his head to serve as a makeshift pillow. He recognized the fabric. Castiel. Freedom. Fire.

He forced himself to a sitting position, swiping weakly at the blanket that fell away as he did so. He was going to kick Castiel’s ass on principle. He was—going to lie back down because his head was swimming and upright no longer sounded like a good idea. He collapsed back down, banging his elbow against the floor as his face came dangerously close to missing the cushion of the coat.

Hardwood underneath him. Unfinished hardwood, and a cheap blanket that was now out of reach had been over him. He was no longer in the church. He was in . . . some kind of cabin. Bed and dresser and desk shoved under the eaves, and there was a big empty floor space without any rugs.

Why Gabriel was lying in the middle of that space, he has no idea.

“C-castiel,” he croaked. Some more water would be good.

There were two doors. One led outside, but Castiel poked his head out of the second.

“Castiel.”

Castiel crossed the room and crouched beside him. Gabriel reached out with one hand and _shoved_ as hard as he could. Granted it wasn’t hard, but Castiel hadn’t been expecting it and toppled when his balance was compromised. Further retribution would have to wait until Gabriel could sit up without passing out or puking.

Unruffled, Castiel regained his footing and planted himself more solidly beside Gabriel, reaching out to rest the back of his hand against Gabriel’s forehead. “You’re still feverish,” Castiel reported, “There’s water, and some broth if you think you can keep it down.”

Gabriel leveled his most petrifying glare at his younger brother. It was diminished by the sudden shiver that quaked through his entire body. Castiel dove for the blanket and restored it around Gabriel’s shoulders. Gabriel burrowed into the warmth as scratchy as the blanket was, and rolled away from his brother.

“Go away, Castiel.”

“No.”

Gabriel jack-knifed upright, swinging his hand with the full force of his body behind it. It cracked against Castiel’s cheek, but Gabriel couldn’t even relish the small victory. He was back on the floor, twisted in the blanket, and retching uncontrollably. Nothing came up, not even spittle; because his mouth was completely dry with desperate thirst. Gabriel gagged. Nothing changed.

He felt the hands on his back; the heel of one dug deep into the tense muscles of his vessel—of his _body_ , while the other straightened his limbs and untangled the blanket. Gabriel struggled, but Castiel pushed him down against the floor firmly with both hands and a knee in the small of Gabriel’s back.

Gabriel couldn’t move pinned under his brother’s weight. And the rebellion passed as the adrenaline faded. After a minute of forced-stillness, the gag reflex subsides, and Gabriel gasped for breath. “Get . . . off me,” he ordered.

“No.”

“I hate you. I hate you so freaking much, y’little—”

Water was offered wordlessly, and Gabriel cut the rant short. Castiel allowed Gabriel to get his elbows under him, but holds the cup himself. Gabriel didn’t even try to take it from him, just sipped slowly at the cold refreshing liquid. When the cup is empty, Castiel released him.

“More?”

Gabriel shook his head, dropping wearily. His elbow jarred against the floor again, and he winced. “Why am I on the floor?” he whined. “There’s a bed right there.”

“Bobby was kind enough to allow us the use of his cabin, but he expressed a wish that you not use his bed until . . . until you have bathed.”

Gabriel muttered some unkind words about the old hunter’s parentage. Explained the lack of rugs and weird set up of the cabin—if Gabriel remembered correctly, the man was still in a wheelchair.

“I have my own cabin a short distance away, but there are stairs and a lack of facilities.”

“Where th’eck are we?” Gabriel demanded, curling up as the water settled uneasily. “What kind of place has no—”

“Camp Chitaqua, and there is a public restroom on either side of the camp, as well as outdoor showers on the Southern edge. I thought you might like privacy in your condition . . .”

Gabriel makes a blind swipe on principle which Castiel avoided neatly and continued.

“. . . and Bobby has his own bathroom with a tub. Dean was quite emphatic that the necessary conveniences were installed before Bobby arrived.” Castiel shrugged a little helplessly. “It’s the only place in camp without water rationing restrictions.”

Gabriel glared. “I’m not that bad.”

“You smell somewhat strongly,” Castiel pointed out.

“I’m going to kick your ass,” Gabriel promised. “If it’s the last thing I do.”

“Later,” Castiel promised, dragging Gabriel upright.

Castiel offered Gabriel the bed afterwards, but Gabriel refused in favor of the desk chair kicked back into a corner. He was already wearing someone else’s clothes (Dean’s, Castiel admitted); he wasn’t about to use someone else’s bed. Bobby’s company chair would do fine.

He was still shivering, shivering harder as a matter of fact, and Castiel fetched another blanket from the bed to wrap around him.

“What’s wrong with th’other one?” Gabriel asked, even though this one is worn-in and therefore softer.

“Dean intends to burn it along with your clothing,” Castiel returned, moving around the room with the ease of someone who has been here many times before. He returned to the desk with a thermos and poured some of the contents into the cap.

Gabriel’s hands were still shaking, but he was steady enough to manage the makeshift plastic dish. He was a little wary considering that the water had barely stayed down, but there was a taste and a smell to this. Gabriel felt appetite returning, but Castiel steadied him.

“Slowly,” his younger brother reminded.

Gabriel sipped it like he had the water, and it warmed him inside. Maybe the illogical human remedy had some merit after all. “Tastes like chicken,” he quipped.

Castiel frowned; Gabriel didn’t have to look, he could just tell. “Yes, it is chicken broth.”

Gabriel let it go, and savored the taste of real food. “I could go for some chocolate.”

“Bobby spoke with Doc, and they comprised a list of foods safe for you to eat. Chocolate is not on that list.” Before Gabriel could protest, Castiel recited, “It is necessary to balance your dietary intake to avoid refeeding syndrome and I must keep an eye out for the symptoms just in case. You should tell me if you notice the signs before I do.”

Gabriel watched his brother warily out of the corner of his eye as he sipped at the broth. “Why?”

“Common outcomes of refeeding syndrome are confusion, coma, convulsions, or death.”

Gabriel shuddered, and set the cup down. “You better notice,” he grimaced. Humans were fragile, and Gabriel had never paid particular interest to the biology or maintenance of human anatomy unless it coincided with a prank. How did humans survive all of this?

“I will endeavor to do so.” Still hovering directly behind Gabriel, Castiel filched the cup and refilled it. “Do not worry, brother.”

Gabriel snorted. “Don’t worry. We’re . . .” He doesn’t want to say it; he can’t believe he’s going to. “We’re human, Castiel. We’re no better than the rest of them now, and it wasn’t meant to be like this! We weren’t meant to be like this!”

“Whoa!” Dean Winchester called out, swinging his hands up in the universal signal for harmless-don’t-harm-me. “Anyone ever tell you that when it comes to food, beggars can’t be choosers, man?”

As the colored splotches fade away from Gabriel’s vision, he snorted at the hunter splattered with chicken broth. Gabriel hadn’t intended to inflict property damage. He was pretty sure that he hadn’t picked up the cup and thrown it in his mini temper tantrum blackout; he’d probably knocked it off the table with some considerable force.

“Dude, you better be done with Bobby’s bathroom, because I used up my day’s ration of water after dragging your smelly ass—” Dean broke off with a hiss, and then Gabriel found himself slammed into the wall, suspended from the hold that the oldest Winchester has on his shirt. Only sheer willpower keeps him from vomiting what little he had eaten into the other man’s face. “What did you do?!” Dean demanded. “What did you do?!”

“ _Dean_.”

“No, Cas! I can forgive a lot of shit after the last few months, but if he’s going to hurt you, he goes!”

“What—” Gabriel gasped through vertigo, nausea, and lack of oxygen after his abrupt collision with the wall. Humans were so freaking fragile. “What are you talking about, you stupid . . . _Castiel_ . . .” he trailed off, because his brother had stepped out from behind Dean and into Gabriel’s direct line of vision.

It clicked in Gabriel’s mind that for all the hovering that Castiel’s been doing, his brother had avoided that line of sight since Gabriel first told him to go away. Gabriel hadn’t noticed because Castiel stayed at his back, at his shoulder, fluttering on the edges of Gabriel’s vision and always to the older brother’s left.

Any other position would have given away the already dark bruising that Gabriel knew came from his hand. He hadn’t thought anything of striking out at Castiel earlier. The sting of his hand had faded in the bath, and the crack . . . well, Gabriel had heard worse.

“Dean, let him go,” Castiel ordered quietly. “He didn’t realize.”

Realize? Castiel was _human_. Gabriel knew this; he knew it wasn’t just him that had lost everything when the angels abandoned them and skipped planes. But . . . Castiel was _human_.

Dean must have read something from the former-angels without Gabriel’s notice, because the floor was under his feet again. He took a shaky step forward, bringing his hand up to the side of Castiel’s face. His fingers traced the bruising lightly, but nothing happened. He couldn’t fix the damage that he had inflicted.

Gabriel had no idea how humans healed themselves or others.

He wanted to hit Castiel again—to punish his little brother for daring to be so vulnerable. It isn’t fair, because Castiel deserved a good ass-kicking for the stunt he pulled back at the church, for not listening to Gabriel, when Gabriel was older and stronger and _in charge_.

Ass-kicking lost some appeal when Gabriel couldn’t wipe away the damage with a touch.

Not all of the appeal.

Gabriel fisted his free hand and brought it down hard on Castiel’s chest. It didn’t seem to faze his younger brother any, but Dean took a step forward. Gabriel let his fist collide with the wall of his brother’s chest again.

“You should have left me there, Castiel!”

“No, Gabriel.”

Gabriel struck him again. Why wasn’t Dean interfering? Why wasn’t he ripping Gabriel off the man’s new little brother figure and throwing him out for the Croats? Why wasn’t Dean protecting Castiel? Gabriel hammered at his brother’s chest with both fists now.

“Then you should have killed me!”

“No.”

Enraged, Gabriel shoved with both hands flat against his brother’s chest. Castiel stumbled back a pace, and Gabriel fell forward after him. Castiel caught him, and pinned Gabriel in place.

“You’re my brother, Gabriel,” Castiel whispered and chapped lips grazed Gabriel’s forehead. “Brothers belong together.”

Gabriel fell still. “Tell that to the ones that left us here,” he suggested wearily, and let his head fall forward against Castiel’s shoulder. They stood there like that for a while.

* * *

Gabriel refused to sleep in Bobby’s bed. Of course, he also insisted on walking to Castiel’s cabin under his own power. Castiel let him stagger approximately six feet out of the cabin before he gripped Gabriel’s arm, and wrapped his own around the former-archangel’s waist.

This was just in time as Gabriel’s knees decided that standing was simply not to be tolerated. Castiel yelped as his brother’s weight almost took them both down, and strained to keep them upright. Gabriel tried to force his knees to stiffen. Mind over matter prevailed for now, but it wouldn’t last for much longer.

“Are you sure about this, Gabriel?” Castiel asked in his _I-am-trying-to-be-patient_ tone.

“If you try picking me up again, Castiel, I _will_ vomit on you.”

“Ah. Is that a threat or a warning?” Castiel asked more conversationally.

“A matter of principle,” Gabriel decided, and forced himself to take a step forward. “We’re halfway there.”

“Yes, the three yards we have covered are weighty indeed given the thirty we have left to go,” Castiel commented, matching his step.

“This is your stupidest idea ever, and yeah, I’m including TV Land in that,” Dean commented, watching from the doorway to Bobby’s cabin.

“You could help,” Castiel muttered, as Gabriel suddenly listed to the other side and the younger man moved to compensate.

Dean sighed, and pulled Gabriel’s other arm over his own shoulders. “See, this is why the apocalypse happened to begin with. Angels have stubbornness tattooed all over the heavenly equivalent of DNA. It’s—what do you call it—dominant.”

“Be quiet, Dean,” Castiel hissed through gritted teeth. He hangs onto Gabriel, both arms around his waist. To be honest, he’s got most of Gabriel’s weight, and it would be simpler to give in and let Castiel or even Dean carry him. But Gabriel needed this last illusion of control.

The bed in Castiel’s cabin was never so welcome as when they finally cleared the last step and opened the door. Gabriel even let them carry him the last ten feet. The mattress was old and musty-smelling, but clean and Gabriel wasn’t picky.

He buried his face in the pillow and collapsed fully.

He briefly felt a hand at the back of his head, and right before he passed out, he caught Castiel’s soft “Rest, brother.”

* * *

When he woke up, Dean was there and tugging Castiel upright. Gabriel’s younger brother was asleep, and therefore not remotely cooperative.

“Where you gonna take him?” Gabriel asked, forcing the words out. He was already in Castiel’s bed after all, and Gabriel heavily suspected that Dean slept in his car.

“Bobby’s . . . med tent maybe if he can’t wake up enough to walk,” Dean grunted, as Castiel stumbled over his own feet and walked into Dean. “People are starting to stir.”

“Here,” Gabriel held the covers up. “We can share. It’s wide enough.”

Dean gave him a look.

Gabriel scoffed. “We’re brothers. I promise that his virtue’s safe with me.”

Dean rolled his eyes, and hefted Castiel’s weight back until Castiel was sitting on the bed. Carefully, Dean tipped Castiel over and shoved his legs up on the mattress. Gabriel let the covers settle, and buried his face in the pillow again without a further word spared for the last Winchester.

He didn’t fall asleep though. Gabriel faked it long enough that Dean left, and then he turned his head to watch one of his brother’s actually breathe. He didn’t sleep, and eventually the sounds of camp as the day began and light filtered in through the windows drew him from the bed.

Castiel woke close to noon, judging by the brightness of the cabin. He was in his bed which was unexpected and mildly concerning. Gabriel was supposed to be there—not Castiel.

Castiel jack-knifed upright, fighting free of the sheet.

“Bro?”

Gabriel was sitting in front of the window, twisted in the chair to watch Castiel struggle out of bed. Castiel exhaled, pushed the sheets away, and stood carefully to cross the small space.

“Morning,” Castiel greeted belatedly, once his hand was securely gripping Gabriel’s shoulder, and his anxiety has settled.

Gabriel gave him a suspicious look, but settled back in the chair comfortably. Castiel leaned against the back of the chair and followed his brother’s gaze.

Gabriel was staring out the window.

The camp was in the motion of its daily routine, already old news to Castiel after just a few months. But to Gabriel, everything about the post-Detroit world was new.

Around them, the humans were preparing for lunch. Children played quietly within reach of their careless parents. The newest round of hunter trainees tromped back from a makeshift shooting range. Dean was arguing with Bobby and Chuck—Bobby was winning.

Gabriel scowled abruptly. “It’s like they’re pretending nothing’s wrong. The apocalypse is here . . . these are the end times . . . and they still hope.”

“What else is left?”

Gabriel rested his forehead against the cool pane of glass. “I never wanted to be human.”

“Could have fooled me,” Castiel deadpanned.

Gabriel shrugged off his hand. “I’m not joking, Castiel, and it isn’t funny.”

“No, I believe the correct term would be ironic. We live as mortals, and we become them. We abandoned Heaven, and in return, it has abandoned us.” Castiel had given this a lot of thought in the hours before dawn as Camp Chitaqua slowly became home.

“You sound like Uriel,” Gabriel warned sharply.

Castiel shrugged. “He was always rather good at the rhetoric element of philosophy. He would have enjoyed our predicament . . . all the same, I am glad not to be alone.”

Gabriel grimaced, turning away. “If we’re going to survive the end, we’ll have to stick together,” he grumbled as if such an arrangement was an inconvenience.

“I can think of worse things,” Castiel agreed gravely.

“So can I. Doesn’t make this any better.”

“Doesn’t make it any worse either.”


End file.
